I put my cool hands on my burning cheeks, embarrassed about the wild things going on in my own mind. What is wrong with me! I’ve been a good girl all my life, for the most part. Besides the running away to Tenerife when I turned eighteen thing, that's it. There has never been a single celebrity, classmate, or casual boyfriend that has made me feel like this. Like my skin is tingling, and the only relief will come from the touch of this Raoul.
Growing up in Washington, the overcast skies and deep, dark forests had never sat right with my soul. I had a good family, a calm upbringing with parents who made their living as college professors, but I spent all those formative years longing for sun and sand. I wanted endless oceans and salt in the air, but the expectation was that I would attend the university my parents taught after I graduated high school, and then after that, maybe, just maybe, I could find my way to paradise. It had seemed forever away.
And then my best friend told me her parents were sending her to Tenerife as a graduation present, and that I was invited along. Just the two of us, on our first outing as adults. It was supposed to last a couple of weeks.
Except when she got on the plane home, I stayed, using the money I had sat aside from summer jobs over the last few years to rent a tiny efficiency apartment. My parents were apoplectic, the most emotion I have ever seen them express, but everyone expected me to go home sooner rather than later. Heck, I even figured that I would get this beautiful slice of heaven out of my system after a couple months, and be ready to head back to Washington and continue the life that had been planned out for me.
That had been over a month, and after getting a job at Salt and Breeze, I have been able to scrape by with a decent existence. Best of all, I get to walk the coast every evening and feel the sun on my skin and the wind in my hair. I might eat a lot of instant noodles, but for the first time in my entire life, my soul is at peace.
That was until Raoul walked through the slatted wooden restaurant doors and shook everything up again for me. This time, in a totally new way that I’m not exactly prepared for.
I check the time on the wall clock, and sigh. Only an hour left on my shift, if I’m able to slide out of here without Paul catching me. I love working at Salt and Breeze, even if it brings out the worst parts of my nervous disposition from time to time, but when I was hired Paul, the general manager, had been on vacation. When he came back, it was like he fixated on me immediately. Every mistake that I made, every second I was late to work, he noticed, and “corrected” me for. His corrections somehow always consist of me sitting in his tiny office with him, filling out worksheets that he must have made on the spot, while he sits uncomfortably close. So close that I can smell his foul coffee breath.
“I could come by your place and give you some remedial training,” he would say, and no matter how many times I brush him off, he continues to ask and try to land himself an invitation to my apartment.
In his late fifties, with a greasy, balding head, Paul oozes sleaziness. I don’t want to ruin my date and potential amazing day with his weird negativity.
The thought of Raoul washes skeevy Paul out of my mind immediately, like a breath of fresh air, and the last hour of my shift ticks by quicker than I could have hoped. I hand my money for the day to an assistant manager, knowing that Paul would give me grief for not reporting directly to him, clock out, untie my apron, and then I’m free.
I pull open the front door, feeling as light as air when the sunshine hits my face. I soak it in, lingering long enough that I hear a faint, “Skye? You know you’re supposed to cash out with me directly,” from back inside the building.
“Crap,” I mutter, hurrying away from the store and hopefully out of Paul’s sight, but out of nowhere I’m stopped by a hand on my upper arm.
I squeal, jumping aside. The man who grabbed me is dressed in a suit jacket and tie, and he looks apologetic at how startled I am.
“Skye Whitney? Sorry to startle you. I’m one of Mr. Damiano’s drivers and he sent me here to pick you up from work.”
“Mr. Damiano? Do you mean Raoul?” I ask, laying a hand over my racing heart.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m to drive you to your date.”
It’s then I notice the sleek black limo parked behind the driver, and everything clicks into place. “Ohhh. How sweet. But I need to go home first to change.”
The driver shakes his head. “No need, ma’am. Mr. Damiano has provided everything you need.”
Confused, I follow him to the car. He opens the door for me, and as I lower myself into the vehicle, I catch a glimpse of Paul standing outside Salt and Breeze, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. I shiver, knowing there’s going to be hell to pay with him later, but within seconds the driver has closed the door and Paul is blessedly gone from my view.
As soon as I’m in the dark, cool car, any worries about work fade away. Folded on the seat beside me is a gauzy, buttercup-yellow sundress, four different pairs of matching strappy sandals, and a small collection of refreshments, including a little hairbrush and a package of face wipes. It’s an odd, sweet collection of things. Everything a girl would need to get ready in a hurry.
“I’m going to put the privacy screen up, ma’am, so you can get changed. Don’t worry, the windows are tinted so no one can see in either. You’ll have complete privacy I assure you.”
I look around the spacious interior as we start moving. “Okay, thanks, uhh, sorry, what’s your name?”
“Trevor,” he says with a chuckle. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, so better to get properly introduced.”
“Nice to meet you, Trevor.”
The privacy screen rolls down, and now that I’m completely alone, I quickly strip out of my work clothes and into the dress. Raoul has provided a few options for shoe sizes, much to my amusement, but he has a good eye for it considering that one pair fits me like a glove. I dab my face with a wipe, sip some chilled water, and run the brush through my hair. With the windows so dark, I have no idea where we’re headed, and I have the brief thought that getting into a random limo isinsanefor an eighteen-year-old woman, but for some reason I trust Raoul, and by extension, any of his associates. There’s something instinctual about our connection, and it makes me feel like I’ve known him my entire life.
I really am naïve,I chide myself, but before I can fall any deeper into that train of thought, the limo comes to a stop. Through an intercom speaker, I hear Trevor ask, “Is it okay to roll up the privacy screen, Ms. Whitney?”
“Yes,” I answer. The screen disappears, and I see Trevor turn his head to look at me. Behind him out the windshield, I recognize where we are…somewhere I’ve wanted to visit but just haven’t had the time.
The Palmetum of Santa Cruz de Tenerife is half botanical garden, half conservatory, and it takes advantage of Tenerife's amazing weather to house some of the rarest palm trees in the world. There are pathways that lead through the Palmetum where one can walk and see the incredible ways the palm trees have been displayed in ways that are as close to their preferred biome as possible. There are winding streams, sprawling green meadows, and even waterfalls to enjoy. Inside the half-sunken glass conservatory, I’ve heard it feels like a hidden world encapsulated in green foliage and brilliant flowers. I’m excited to get to experience it, and even more so to see it with Raoul.
“Enjoy your time,” Trevor says with a grin, just as the door beside me opens.
Raoul reaches his hand down into the limo to assist me, and I take it, my eyes wide with wonder. Before, he had been dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, looking almost menacing and unapproachable, but for our date, he’s changed himself into an even more devastating version of himself. His white linen button-down has the sleeves rolled up so I can see his defined forearms, and the cuffed, navy blue shorts show off legs so thick and muscled that I have to will myself to tear my eyes away.